Survivors: The Birth of the Raiders
by Pepper527
Summary: Three weeks after the fall of Pyrrhus, ISA soldiers Rico Velasquez and "Jammer" are stranded in the deathly Helghast desert with a small, motley group of fellow survivors...but not all of them are ISA. Throughout constant conflicts and petty squabbles, the small group must put aside their petty differences to work to the common goal of survival.
1. Prologue

This is one story I've always wanted to work on. One that shows the experiences of the ISA Raider Squad during the six months between the ISA's failed evacuation from Pyrrhus and the Helghast's plan to invade Earth. If you've played _Killzone 3_, then it should be no surprise that the main characters will be Rico and Jammer, but there will also be a bunch of new characters that I've made up that will also make up the cast. As always, please feel free to critique me and give me your opinions.

**Note: I don't own Killzone. It is the property of Sony Entertainment and Guerilla Games.**

"**Jammer"  
E-3 (Pilot 1****st**** Class, ISA Air &amp; Space Force)  
Age: 23  
Hulst Desert, Helghan  
December 2, 2359  
1000 hours**

I sat in the cockpit of my Intruder, making my usual rounds of searching for stranded ISA troops. I casually flew across the arid Helghan desert, constantly checking my radar for even the tiniest sign of life on this Hellhole. I'd been flying across miles and miles of vacuous wasteland for nearly an hour, just praying that I'd find just a single ISA grunt that'd survived that colossal shitfest at Pyrrhus. But alas, the radar came up as empty as the area it scanned. There was nothing. No soldiers. No distress calls. Not even a dried up corpse that we could loot for supplies. There was just…nothing.

But, hey, I guess that's just typical of this Godforsaken planet. The minute you set foot here, you're on your own. If this rock's fanatic, war-crazed inhabitants don't kill you, its abrasive environment, blazing heat, and hostile wildlife will. Everyone who'd been involved in the catastrophe at Pyrrhus had either died, been captured, or somehow managed to fight his way off this planet (oh God, how I envied them). As far as I knew, the only "ISA scum" left on this shithole were me and my Sergeant.

Sergeant Rico Velasquez, who was riding on top, spoke to me through the radio.  
"Hey, Jammer! You find anything yet?"

"Negative, unless you're asking me about this gorgeous Helghan landscape that we're exploring. Again. We've been flying over this same Goddamn desert three days, Sarge. Not even the Higs can survive in this terrain for this long without supplies."

"Let's give it another hour. I know there's other lost Vektans like us out there."

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Rico, look. We've burned out half our fuel on this wild goose chase. I only have enough for—two hours, tops. What the Hell are we gonna do when we run out?"

"Then we'll walk."

"OUT THERE!?" I shouted into the mic. "ARE YOU FREAKING CRAZY!? WE WOULDN'T LAST TWO DAYS!"

"I don't care what we have to do!" He screamed back. "I'm not just gonna sit here on my ass while more people die because out there! Now shut the fuck up and keep searching!"

"Goddamn it, Rico! Why can't you—"

**Ping! Ping! Ping!**

_What the_?

To my astonishment, the radar actually managed to find one lucky soul on this desert!

"Hey, Sarge!"

"What now?"

_Asshole_.

"The radar's actually picked up something!"

"Ha! And what did I tell you?" He responded. "Which direction?"

"About…320 degrees north-northwest."

"Just hold on." I took a few seconds to see if this ping hid a distress signal behind it.

"_Repeat…mayday…ISA…wound…need Medic—wned cruiser…we have supp…please help…"_

"The signal's pretty faint, but I can definitely hear it. It sounded like they have wounded, and they mentioned something about a cruiser."

"That's probably where they're holed up. How far is it from us?"

"Approximately 20 kilometers northwest from us."

"Tell em' we got their distress signal and we're comin' for em' right now."

"Roger." I flicked the yellow switch on the right side of the radio and said, "This is Intruder Raider 1. I got your transmission. Report your location and we'll get to you. Over."

"_Roger…Raider 1… …downed Hig cruis… creek…over."_

I spoke to the Sarge once again. "Uhh, I couldn't hear him too well, but it looks like they're holed up in a downed Helghast cruiser by the river."

"A _Helghast _cruiser?" He shouted in surprise. "Shit. It might be a trap then, but at least they might have supplies we can loot from 'em. Be on guard, Jammer."

"Copy!" I turned the dropship away from its normal route and headed it towards the source of the mystery distress signal. Personally, I didn't think the Higs would be so stupid as to hide out here in this desert in the most obvious place imaginable: an abandoned ship. Then again, I've seen the Helghast do crazier things before. At Pyrrhus, I once saw a lone Hig who was psychotic enough to charge into a squad of ISA with a grenade! So, I made sure I took no chances and prepare myself for whatever's gonna happen.

We flew across the dry, orange desert for about twenty minutes as my radar's pinging grew more and more rapid. We inched closer and closer to the target until we finally ended up at an enormous wreck of a Helghast cruiser. Unlike our ISA cruisers, which were essentially mobile space stations that hovered motionlessly in the sky like long, floating icicles, Helghast cruisers were more like what you'd see in a science-fiction movie. This ship in particular was a pathetic shell of its former self: its entire aft section had been blown off (which meant that its engines and command bridge were gone), there were large, gaping blast holes all around its hull, and of course, without a power supply, all of its weapons and utilities would be completely useless. Still, Velasquez and I had to sleep in a filthy old shack for two weeks. Compared to that, a downed cruiser is a freaking five-star hotel.

I landed the Intruder along the port side of the cruiser, where the biggest hole was. I picked up my captured StA 11 submachine gun and opened the canopy. Rico jumped off the top of the ship, his enormous M224 LMG in hand. He looked at his left towards me.

"You remember the countersign, Jammer?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Alright, then. Be prepared for whatever's ahead."

We pointed our guns at the unseen inhabitants of the derelict cruiser as I called out the ISA challenge.

"Eagle!"

We paused for reply. Nothing.

"Whoever's in there, Eagle! If you do not reply we will open fire on you and take your supplies!"

I knew that there were only two of us, and there could be fifty of them for all we knew, but I hoped that my bluff would make them believe that there was a sizable platoon outside waiting to take them out.

We paused once again, ready to carry out our threat.

"Talon! Don't shoot! Talon!"

_Thank God_.

Rico and I thankfully lowered our guns and were relieved to see three men in ISA gear appear from the cruiser. They appeared in a straight line, with one guy in the middle while the other ones were at his sides. The center ISA was a tall, lean, short-haired blond man holding an M82 assault rifle, while the others were shorter, younger, and each holding the same weapon.

"Good to see we weren't the only ones who'd survived that shitstorm on Pyrrhus. I'm Sergeant Daniel McClellan, Tactician class, 5th Battalion. This here on my left is Private Harrison… and on the right is Hernandez. We and about thirty others took refuge in that cruiser behind us after we missed the evac on Pyrrhus."

Lowering my StA11, I spoke up. "That's funny. Me and my Sergeant also came here from Pyrrhus. There was a platoon of men with us as well, but they…"

"They didn't make it, did they?" He sighed. "God protect them. Well, the important thing is that you and your sarge made it through. Come inside and we can get you two out of this fuckin' Helghast desert, and maybe get you to help some of our wounded Come to think of it, neither of you would happen to me Medics, are you?"

Velasquez lowered his head and sighed, "I'm sorry. We're not. But we do have a few medkits stowed onboard the Intruder."

"I see", said Lindberg. "Shit. Well I suppose that's gonna have to do for the time being."

The tall sergeant gestured us towards the derelict cruiser and shouted "Come on!" But not before freezing and saying "Oh! One last thing!" He turned towards me and said "Hey, ma'am?"

"Yeah."

"You might wanna move that Intruder of yours a few kilos north past the creek. The Higs don't really do much patrolling here, but I wanna make sure they never catch any of our vehicles and get suspicious. Don't worry 'bout getting back here. I'll send a couple guys in a jeep to pick you up."

"Sure thing." I replied. "I could do with a few minutes to myself without having to deal with my pet gorilla over here."

"Yeah, that's very friggin' funny," replied Rico, who wasn't fond of my sense of humor. "Just make sure you get your ass back here soon, Jammer."

I winked at Rico and gave him a salute, "Don't worry about it, Sarge."

I climbed into the Intruder's cockpit and flied it north towards where Lindberg said the other ISA vehicles would be. The creek was nothing to look at: it was just a single line of shallow, murky water with an old, rickety bridge made of rusted sheet metal across it. Past the creek lied a small row of ISA Intruders, jeeps, and even some stolen Helghast vehicles neatly parked beneath a cliff, which was hiding it underneath its shadow. I gently landed my dropship and left my sweltering cockpit and rested underneath the cooling shade of the cliff. The landscape was, frankly, pretty damn boring. There was little to look at, except miles and miles of Helghast desert, with only the sun, the creek and the giant, derelict cruiser to stand out.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of doing jack shit, I spied the aforementioned ISA jeep soaring towards me from the horizon. Surprisingly, it was able to drive over the old, rusted bridge without even slipping over. There was one ISA grunt driving the vehicle and another manning the machine gun on the back.

I waved at the driver and shouted, "Took you assholes long enough! I was beginning to think you were gonna leave a poor girl like me to fry in this desert!"

"Hey, we're gentlemen! It would be wrong for us to leave a fine woman like you to die in this hellhole!"

Before going with them, I remembered McClellan's request for some medical equipment and picked three of them from the cockpit. Then, grabbing my StA-11, I eagerly jumped into the passenger seat and rode with the two men back to the cruiser. The soldiers were Privates Harrison and Hernandez, the two men Rico and I met alongside McClellan. Harrison was the driver; he was around his twenties, carried a StA-14 Rifle, and wore the trademark orange scarf and motorcycle sunglasses that most Saboteurs wore. Hernandez, the gunner, was somewhat older and most likely an Assault trooper, since he carried a big VC-9 Rocket Launcher on his back.

"Hey." Harrison spoke up, "What was your name again?"

"You can call me 'Jammer'".

"Jammer?"

"_Just_ Jammer."

He gave me a questioning look, but shrugged his shoulders in acceptance.

Okay, 'Jammer' what brings you and your friend to this lovely Helghan countryside?"

"It's a long story. Me and Rico met during the ISA's retreat from Phyrrus, when the Higs launched their counterattack. My squad, the Raiders, was being overrun by the Higs at Bilgarsk Boulevard. Rico came to back us up when no one else would. Thanks to him, we were able to push the Higs back, and started making our way to the evac. But…"

My tone became more somber. "…when one of our cruisers got shot down and started falling toward us, it was way too late. More than half of us were killed by either falling debris or explosions. The rest of us: bullet wounds, infections, dismemberments, hostile wildlife...you get the picture. Rico and I were the only ones who'd survived. How we did is far beyond me."

"Oh, my God." Harrison replied. "I'm real sorry, Jammer. I can't believe the two of you went through all that shit on Pyrrhus, and lost your entire squad! How the Hell did you guys last these past few weeks on your own?"

"We found an Intruder at the edge of town. She wasn't exactly in her prettiest shape, but we'd rather been in the air than on our feet, so we salvaged her and flew the Hell outta Pyrrhus. Since then, we've been searching for other ISA survivors for almost two weeks."

"Did'ya ever find any?"

I sighed deeply. "Nope. Not one. We couldn't find a single ISA that wasn't dead already. You guys were the first live troopers we've seen since we've left Pyrrhus. Come to think of it, how the Hell did you guys survive this long, anyway? And in busted old cruiser like that?"

"Well, luckily, some of us weren't even _at _Pyrrhus when we found that ship. Our battalion was stationed aboard the cruiser _Zephyr_ until it the Higs blew her out of the sky. We got away, but ended up being completely separated from Capt. Narville's convoy, and our radio was fried, which meant we couldn't call for help. On top of that, there was that big fuckin' nuke that went off over Pyrrhus, so we figured that everyone in Pyrrhus would've been good as dead, anyway and decided to lay low and survive on our own in that ghost ship. There's about thirty of our battalion living there, plus two or three more who found us the way you guys did."

"I see." I replied. "But listen, you probably shouldn't tell my sergeant that you guys left the convoy to hide out here. He's a decent guy, but he's short-tempered, boisterous, and a bit of an opinionated asshole. He might not understand your reasons for hiding out here like I do, so just keep that shit to yourselves."

"Sure thing." He replied. After a few more minutes of driving we finally returned to the massive, rusted tomb that was the cruiser. The hole that served as the entryway was large enough to let through a small jeep, so Harrison parked us inside. It felt refreshing to spend some time away from the hot Helghast desert…but that also meant I'd have to deal with my hot-headed Sergeant again. Speaking of which, I saw Rico talking with McClellan as I came in.

Rico saw me walk in and said, "Ah, Jammer you're back already. Good."

"Aw, did you miss me Sarge?" I teased. "How sweet! I was beginning to think you'd enjoy not having to listen to me nagging the Hell out of you."

"Whatever." He snorted. "Just remember who bothered to save your ass at Phyrrus while _you_ called for help. That is, unless you want me to put a bullet in that fuckin' jaw of yours and close it forever."

"I'd like to see you try, bitch!"

"All right, knock it off! Both of you!" shouted McClellan. "Jammer, have you brought the medkits?"

"Three of them, sir. They're in the front passenger seat of the jeep."

"Excellent. I'll get them to our wounded right away. At the meantime, you and Velasquez make yourselves at home. Meet some of the other soldiers; get some food, some rest, and some time away from this Goddamn desert. But don't get too comfortable! Tomorrow, you guys'll be working just like the rest of us!"

"Yes sir!" We both shouted.

Rico turned to me and said "Jammer, I'll go with McClellan and get those meds to our wounded. Meantime, you get acquainted with some of the other soldiers here."

"You got it."

Rico and McClellan walked into the dark remnants of the ship's hallway, while I turned around and headed towards the mass of Vektan bodies behind me.

_This should be interesting_.


	2. Survivors Chapter 1: The Mercenary

**Survivors Chapter I:  
The Mercenary**

"**Jammer"**  
**Hulst Desert, Helghan****  
****December 2, 2359****  
****1120 hours**

Harrison and I casually walked through the shattered remnants of what appeared to be the cruiser's mess hall. They seemed to take the word "mess" a bit literally, as the floor around me was littered with rifles, MREs, weapons containers (both ISA and Helghast), sleeping bags, and other miscellaneous crap.

Past the wreckage, I could see a group of about five ISA grunts huddled around a lantern like a group of kids at a campfire. Two of the soldiers—one of them a big, burly, giant of a man sporting a blue bandana atop his head, and the other a petite, red-haired woman with a handful of cards in her left hand—were locked in a game of Poker with each other. The big guy across from me was staring nervously at his cards and was trying desperately not to screw up, while the woman on the other side wore a cool, confident smile and paid more attention watching the other player's distress than at her cards. You didn't need to be a Poker expert to tell who was winning.

Suddenly, the large soldier let out a huge smile across his face and shouted, "Ha! I finally got your ass, this time, Crowther!" He threw his cards onto the floor and cried, "Four of a kind! Top that, bitch!" The soldiers around him were amazed at the impressive hand he'd just made, but the red-haired woman's relaxed, confident demeanor remained. "Not bad, Natko." She said in a smooth, Southern Belle accent. "You might even beat me this time." She looked at her cards on her left hand, and placed them on the ground. Instantly, the large soldier's proud smile turned into a shocked, disbelieving grimace.

"A—A straight…flush!?" He stuttered. The other soldiers all around him were just as stunned as he was.

"Sorry, sugar," the redhead soldier giggled, "But I win again."

"LIKE HELL YOU DID!" roared the large soldier. He rose and pointed an accusing finger at the winner and shouted, "I KNOW YOU FUCKING CHEATED YOU LITTLE LIAR!"

"You can think whatever ya want Natko, but I didn't cheat. I won. You lost. End of story. But hey, I'm always willin' to play you again if ya like."

"You little—I ain't lettin' you getting away with this shit, Crowther! Nobody cheats Shawn Natko!"

Harrison and the other soldiers ganged up on "Natko" and did their best to restrain him.

"Jesus, Natko! It's just a stupid game!"

"None of us could beat her anyway!"

"Want McClellan to have you shot?"

I wasn't happy with this sore loser's behavior either, so I decided to get into his face and verbally put him in his place. "Hey, man! Why don't you just back the Hell off!? The lady beat you fair and square! Are you gonna take it like a man and accept it, or just be a little whiny bitch about it!?"

"Why you—who the Hell are you, anyway!?"

"My name's Jammer, and unless you want a girl to kick your ass in a fistfight as well as Poker, I suggest you swallow your stupid pride and get over it!"

Natko's anger didn't subside, but he surprisingly still had the self-control to obey my warning and back off. He shrugged off the other soldiers' arms and walked away without saying a word.

Harrison rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment and sighed, "I'm really sorry you had to see that, Jammer. Natko doesn't act like that all the time—he just _really_ hates losing."

"Aw, don't worry. Trust me, my sergeant acts the same way, and I had to deal with _him_ for two weeks. I can handle guys like him and Natko pretty well." I turned to the around to the winner of the Poker game and told her, "I'm sorry _you_ had to see that."

"Oh, please." She laughed. "I ain't mad, hon. This ain't the first time I beat 'im, either. I get a kick outta watchin' him lose his cool. But yer welcome to play me if you want."

Harrison tapped my shoulder and said, "Hey Jammer, do you want to meet the other survivors here, or do you want me to leave you with her?"

"I think I'll just sit here, thanks. You go make sure that other guy doesn't kill everyone in this Goddamn cruiser."

"Sure thing, see ya." He quickly left and went further ahead in the mess hall. I sat down on a locked weapons container right next to the female soldier.

Up close, I could tell that something was a little bit…different about her. She didn't wear any ISA (or any military) garments except for a pair of old, tattered combat boots with the ISA logo on the sides nearly worn away. The rest of her clothes were entirely civilian: A set of thin glasses that emphasized her serene brown eyes, a pair of aged blue jeans, a thick brown leather jacket, and a light gray t-shirt showing a picture of a bulls-eye and bold text that read, **"The only shot that counts…is the first one." **It wasn't just her appearance that made her strange, but the way she behaved as well. Any ISA soldier (including myself and Rico) who'd survived longer than a day on this Godforsaken planet would've seen experienced things far too horrendous and damaging for one person to handle without going batshit insane. This woman seemed so…relaxed. So unfazed by the fact that she's trapped on a dilapidated cruiser on a hostile planet with a bunch of strangers (one of whom would've broken her arm for beating him at a Poker game). I was a bit worried by her cavalier behavior, but had no real reason to be suspicious. Yet. So I kept my worries to myself and let her begin the conversation.

"You probably heard it already, but my name's Jane Crowther. Been here about a month or so. Didn't think I'd see a new face here so soon." She spoke.

"Yeah, well, you can call me 'Jammer'."

" 'Jammer'? Now that's an interestin' name. I suppose yer some kinda tech expert, then?"

"A pilot, actually. E-3. Air and Space Force."

"Ahh, a pilot. Nice. We could use a couple more 'round here, since we only got two pilots out of the thirty of us, an' one's a rookie who can barely fly and the other's…well, a dumbass."

We both laughed at her joke, and I secretly enjoyed at the idea of showing off to the other two aforementioned pilots.

"What about you?" I asked back.

"Sniper."

"Sweet. Which branch?"

Crowther looked at me as if that was a strange thing to ask. "What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, what branch of the ISA are you with? The Marines? Navy? Special Forces?"

All of a sudden, the redhead sniper let out a huge gush of laughter, as if what I'd asked her was the most naive question she'd ever heard. When she calmed down, she answered, "You see, darlin': I ain't _with_ the ISA. Ain't with the Helghast either."

_Okay, not liking where this is going_. I could feel my stomach turn into mush as I fearfully imagined what the sniper meant. I nervously asked the next question: "Then…who are you with?"

"I'm what you might call…a wartime opportunist."

I fumbled with her words. "A wartime opport—" At last, my worst fear had been realized.

"You're a…mercenary!?"

"Yep. But I hate the word 'mercenary'. Jus' sounds so cold and ruthless."

If there's one thing that we Vektans and the Helghast had in common (besides our hate for each other), it's our fear of mercs. See, with the Higs, we knew how to deal with them. We had training. We had combat experience. We had centuries of political, economic, and racial animosity towards them. In other words, they were always going to be the enemy, and we knew how to deal with the enemy: by shooting them before they shoot us. With mercenaries, you never know what to expect. Unlike the Higs and the ISA, mercs aren't driven by patriotism or a desire for victory, but simply a desire for money. They don't care who they fight for, as long as that side makes the pay worthwhile. That makes them far less predictable, as they can be you friend one minute and your enemy the next. Not only that, but I personally despised mercs for how they selfishly exploit war and death for their own gain. To me, they were like parasites, leeching on the blood of all the man and women they butchered to keep themselves alive.

I didn't want to take any more chances with this chick, so I cautiously reached down my right hip where my M4 Revolver was holstered. As I reached down, the mercenary laughed once again, saying "I know jus' what yer' thinkin, darling: _'How can I trust a merc?' _She teased._ 'They're all backstabbin' cowards. What if there's a price on my head? How do I know she won't turn me in to the Higs or jus' kill me right here?' _ Relax, willya? If I wanted to kill ya, I'd have done it already. Got no reason to, since we jus' met five minutes ago."

I wasn't satisfied with her answer. "How do I know you're not gonna try to kill me later on? When I'm off guard?"

"Come on, now, sugar. If I were to do somethin' like that, what d'ya think would happen to me? I'm outnumbered 30-1 here. My survival depends on whether 'r not I maintain everyone else's trust. If I killed you or any of th' survivors here, the others'd think I'm no better than the Higs. They'd have my ass dragged outside, put a bullet through my head, 'n leave my corpse for the Hig spiders. So relax. I ain't no threat to you. Besides, I ain't the one who's reachin' down for her gun right about now."

_Shit. She's got a point_. Though I didn't trust her completely, I reluctantly decided to trust the merc's words and took my hand away from my pistol.

"See? Now we can continue our conversation without pullin' guns on each other? So, where'd ya' learn to fly?"

I ignored her question and replied, "Don't go thinking that this makes us friends, Crowther."

"Come on! Jus' a minute ago, you had no problem sittin' next to me! Now ya hate me?"

"Even if you won't kill me, how can you expect me to trust someone who treats war like some kind of business? I know you're a merc, but you're also Vektan, aren't you!? How the Hell can you live with yourself knowing that you've killed people on both sides just to earn a bit of money? Where the Hell is your loyalty to your planet?"

Crowther shot me a slightly annoyed glare. "First of all, hon." She replied, "I ain't Vektan. I was raised on a minin' colony on Mars. Second, this war ain't as quite as heroic as you may think. Sure, the Higs' government has done some pretty shitty things the past few years. Hell, the head honcho Visari might even be the most dangerous war criminal since Osama bin Laden three centuries ago. But Vekta—at least its government—ain't much better than Visari or his senators. After all, it was Vekta's government that sent the original Helghans to die on this Godforsaken rock in the first place. Now, you don't haveta agree with me on this—and frankly, I couldn't care less if ya did—but as far as I care, the only thing patriotism n' loyalty are good far is gettin' your ass killed. I mean, yes, Visari's grunts were told all sorts of noble bullshit about how their planet 'is superior to all others' while many ISA grunts want payback for all the war crimes the Higs caused them on their planet. But in the end, where does all that loyalty and pride get 'em? Dead. ISA: dead. Higs: dead. Even the ones that don't get killed woulda' wished they had anyway, since they gotta live with all the memories of their friends bein' slaughtered. Well, they can have their little war—me, I'd rather not die in some forgotten hellhole because some asshole told me to. At least if I die for money, it'd be my choice."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! How could this woman have such a selfish outlook on this war!? Thousands upon thousands of ISA and Helghast troops had died trying to protect their respective planets, and this mercenary just says "screw them all"!? I honestly held far more respect for the Higs—at least they fight for a cause, even if that cause is to wipe out everyone on my side.

"That's what happens in war, Crowther!" I rebutted furiously, "If you were a _real _soldier, you'd realize that."

The redhead went from being slightly annoyed to outright pissed at me. "I _was_ a real soldier, Jammer. If you weren't such a self-righteous bitch, maybe you'd realize that." And with that, our conversation had ended. I didn't mind being called a bitch; lots of people have called me that (hell, even Rico). I was just so ashamed and embarrassed of myself for making such an ugly accusation to her that I couldn't continue talking.

Crowther turned towards the large hole on the exterior of the cruiser and said, "If you'll excuse me, I gotta go find that idiot Natko 'fore he gets himself in more trouble. See ya." Crowther picked up her cards and weapons and walked further towards the bow of the ship.

I was left to contemplate her last words to me: _I _was_ a real soldier, Jammer_. The more I thought of those words, the more my anger and contempt towards Crowther dissolved into pity and remorse. What the Hell happened to her in the past to give her such a cynical view on war? Was she an ISA soldier herself? Did she lose anyone close to her? Was it the Helghast's brutality that broke her, or the sheer negligence and self-interest of Vektan politicians? I guess I'll never know, and I don't think it's my right to know. I guess the only thing I can do is learn to accept that I have to fight alongside a merc and pray to God that she doesn't sell out this entire platoon for a little extra cash.


	3. Survivors Chapter 2: Nighttime

**Survivors Chapter II:**

**Nighttime on Helghan**

_Five hours later _(1620 hours)

Helghan truly was—in more ways than one—completely alien from Earth and Vekta. Earth and Vekta were almost twinlike in every aspect: their ecosystems, their rotations, their orbits around their respective suns (though Vekta's orbit was slightly faster). Helghan on the other hand was the polar opposite on every single thing. Its land was almost entirely encompassed by dry, desolate deserts and canyons, broken up only by a few dangerous jungles in the western region and the bitter, freezing Polar Regions. There was only one ocean, which for us meant no immediate access to water for hundreds of miles, save for the small creek north of our position. Great.

Its rotation was also much faster than the UCN-held planets, which meant that the days went by faster (by approximately three hours). On Earth or Vekta, it would be dusk right about now, but because days on Helghan only lasted about twenty-one hours, the sun had already set on along the planet's horizon. The only lights left in the sky were the billions of gleaming stars that dotted the night sky and the planet's enormous twin moons that hovered like two protective parents watching over their child. I gotta say, as much as I hated this ugly planet, I always admired what little beauty it has to offer.

But not everyone cared enough to enjoy it. The crew was beginning its nightly round of dinner: week-old MREs coupled with dried petrusite spiders, de-feathered canyon vultures, and fried Helghan sand lizards. I can't wait to eat such fine, exotic cuisine on this wondrous planet—especially since I hate lizards. Each of the crew was scattered around the cruiser around small campfires, sharing stories of Helghast they'd killed, women they'd scored, and other macho nonsense.

I preferred to keep my privacy, which is surprisingly something I had in common with Rico. The two of us had our own fire near the portside hull of the cruiser, away from the other groups of men around us. Another thing we shared was our Hispanic heritage (he was Black Puerto Rican while I was Colombian), and our ability to speak Spanish, which had been a dying language for centuries since World War III. We decided to keep our conversation private by speaking in our mother language.

I began by asking him what he'd thought of our circumstances.

"_Está bien," _Rico replied, _"pero no creo que nadie puede quedarse para siempre." _  
("It's alright, but I don't think anyone can stay here forever.")

"_¿Qué quieres decir?"  
_("What do you mean?")

"_Estamos en un crucero abandonado en medio de puto nada en un planeta lleno de personas que nos quieren matar!"  
_("We're in an abandoned cruiser in the middle of fuckin' nowhere on a planet full of people who wanna kill us!")

"_¿Su punto?" _I replied._  
_("Your point?")

"_Mi punto es que durante mucho tiempo nos quedamos aquí, estamos sentados los patos. Incluso mientras hablamos, los Higs están a la caza de nosotros, y no se detendrán ante nada hasta que nos encuentren. Es sólo cuestión de tiempo "antes lo hacen. La única forma que sobreviviremos es si nos seguimos moviendo."_  
("My point is as long we stay here, we're sittin' ducks. Even as we speak, the Higs are on the hunt for us, and they won't stop at nothing 'til they find us. It's only a matter of time 'fore they do. The only way we'll survive is if we keep movin'.")

I sighed. _"No sé, Rico. Es decir, entiendo lo que dices, pero si nos vamos, ¿dónde tendríamos que ir? Todos los cruceros de evacuación nos dejaron, y obviamente no podemos volver a Phyrrus. Ahora bien, como una mierda que es este lugar, es el más seguro que tenemos. Creo que deberíamos mantener un perfil bajo durante un tiempo hasta que tengamos la oportunidad de encontrar tierra mejor."  
_(I don't know, Rico. I mean, I understand what you're saying, but if we do leave, where would we have to go? All the evac cruisers left us, and obviously we can't go back to Phyrrus. Right now, as shitty as this place is, it's the safest one we got. I think we should lay low for a while until we get the chance to find better land.")

"_Pero ¿qué pasa si no viene, Jammer? ¿Qué pasa si los Helghast finalmente localizar nos oyen y acabar con nosotros. Te digo, que no podemos quedarnos aquí."  
_("But what if it never comes, Jammer? What if the Helghast finally track us down here and wipe us out? I'm tellin' you, we can't just stay here.")

I lowered my eyes towards the ground. Seeing as how arguing about this with Rico wasn't getting either of us anywhere, I decided to change the subject.

_Dijiste que eran heridos en este crucero, ¿verdad?  
_("You said that there were wounded in this cruiser, right?")

_Sí, tres de ellos. Todo en muy mal estado, pero aún con vida.  
_(Yeah, three of 'em. All in pretty bad shape, but still alive.")

"_¿Qué tan malo?"  
_("How bad?")

"_Una falta de su ojo izquierdo, tiene una pierna rota, y uno tenía su mano cortada por granada metralla."  
_("One's missing his left eye, one's got his left leg broken, and one had his hand amputated by grenade shrapnel.")

"Fuck!" I shouted in horror and covered my mouth.  
_"¿Cómo lograron sobrevivir así? ¿En un sitio como éste?"  
_("How did they manage to survive like that!? In a place like this!?")

"_Tienen a un médico. Un chico llamado…Markus o cosas así. Pero dijo que sólo puede hacer tanto con los limitados recursos que tiene. A menos que él puede llegar a esos hombres fuera del mundo y regreso a Vekta, sirven como muertos."  
_("They got a Medic here. A kid named Markus, or somethin' like that. But he said that he can only do so much with the few resources he has. Unless we can get those men off-world and back to Vekta, they're good as dead.".)

"Shit." I sighed, reverting back to English. "God help us all." I sighed deeply and dug my head between my knees. Where the Hell were we going to find a transport or hospital in a place like this? I silently prayed for those men's souls.

Rico and I stayed silent for a while as the soothing campfire between us kept us warm. All around us, the other ISA continued to laugh and regale all sorts of wild adventures during their service. I was actually thinking about joining their little shindig, that is, until I heard a certain Southern Belle's voice to the right of me.

"Why d'you two kids look so glum?"

Rico looked in the direction of the voice and growled, "And who the Hell are you?"

"My, my, aren't we curt? M' name's Jane Crowther." She casually turned towards me and said, "Y' know, Jammer, when you said that ya came here with yer sergeant, I didn't realize ya were talkin' about the famous Ricardo Velasquez." The redhead's tone was as calm and carefree as ever. Clearly she'd forgotten all about our little debate from earlier.

Rico's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And just how the fuck do you know my name?" 

"Let's just say," Crowther sighed, "that where I come, yer pretty popular. In fact, there's 'bout a dozen other people that'd _love_ to meet you in person."

I shared Rico's suspicion, but decided to keep it to myself. "So what are you here for, Crow?"

"I came ta' introduce you to yer new squad."

All of a sudden, my mouth went agape with excitement! "No shit?" I exclaimed.

"No shit." Crowther replied. She turned her shoulder and looked behind as if she were expecting someone to show up. "In fact, they're jus' showin' up right now."

Two young soldiers walked up side-by-side, putting Crowther herself between them.  
"Say hello to yer new squad captain, kids."

They both immediately saluted me and exclaimed "Ma'am!"

The soldier on the left was a short, ordinary-looking grunt in his late 20s with short, black hair and humble green eyes. He wore the typical uniform of any ISA soldier—a set of light green fatigues with a bright orange collar and a glowing, light blue PDA on the left shoulder.

"Alright. What's your name, rank, division, and unit?" I asked him.

"Ma'am. Hans Gotmann. Private 1st Class. Marines. I was with Narville's Avenger convoy when we were evacuating Phyrrus."

"Do you have any experience flying an Intruder?

"Not much, ma'am. I've only done about thirty hours in the simulator; twenty hours cockpit maintenance; five hours in the field."

"Well," I sighed, "do you at least know how to control an Intruder?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do!" He exclaimed.

"Alright, then. We'll make a pilot of you yet."

I turned my attention to the other young ISA on the right—a petite, Asian-looking female that wore short, boyish black hair and two gloomy brown eyes. She also wore the same pretentiously-named uniform as mine: the ISA Light Recon Fatigue, which was basically a lighter, stripped down version of the standard uniform with a hoodie in place of a helmet. The people who wear this uniform are usually either female grunts who don't like being weighed down by loads of ammo, or pilots like me who prefer not to get their asses blown off on the ground. This girl in particular had an expression like a young kid whose dog had just died yesterday. Her eyes were morosely turned downward, and she'd looked like she was lost in some pretty horrific memories. Not that I blamed her—anyone who'd survived even a single encounter with the Helghast would not come out without some heavy mental trauma.

"Hey! _Chica!_" I shouted to get her mind back in the present.

"Huh!? Y-yes, ma'am! Sorry, ma'am!"

"It's all right, kid! At ease!" I lowered my voice and motioned my hands downward to get her to calm down.

"Now, what's your name, rank, division, and unit?" I asked calmly, but firmly.

"I'm…Midori Mayerson. Private 2nd Class. ISA Navy. I'm with the 31st Medical Air Cavalry…or at least I was." Despite her Japanese name and appearance, there was a slight British or Australian accent beneath her voice.

"How old are you, Midori?"

"I'm uh, eighteen…ma'am."

"Okay. Do you have any flight experience with an Intruder?" 

"Yeah, um…two hundred hours in the sim, one-seventy hours in cockpit maintenance, and…" Her eyes turned downward once again.

"And?" I crossed my arms and asked harshly.

The Asian said nothing, as if she was ashamed about what she had to say next.

"Speak up, dammit! Have you ever flown an aircraft in the field?"

"Yes, ma'am." She sighed regretfully. "But I have very little field experience. I've only flown an Intruder in combat once for about thirty minutes. And even then, it was a disaster."

"Alright then." I replied. "That's all you needed to say. If you don't have much flight experience, that's fine. That's nothing to be ashamed about."

"I—It's not?"

I put my hand on Midori's shoulder and gave her an assuring smile. "Of course not, kid. Starting tomorrow morning, you and Gotmann will learn everything you need to know about flying an Intruder in the field, and it'll become to you like eating or breathing—effortless. That sound good?"

The young girl smiled back at me. "Yeah. It sounds really good, ma'am. Thanks."

I walked in front of the two would-be pilots and puffed out my chest and said in the most commanding tone I could muster, "Now listen up, both of you! Starting tomorrow at exactly 0600, the two of you are gonna become the future flyers of Vekta! As the two of you know, we're in a pretty shitty situation. The recent fiasco at Phyrrus left us all running and hiding from an entire planet of people who want to hunt us down and paint the walls with our entrails. There are still plenty of unlucky men and women who haven't found refuge, and it's up to us to find them! As my wingmen, your duties will involve flying cover beside me while looking out for any lost ISA soldiers out in the wilderness! You will also look for lost supplies or shelter we could use to increase our chances of survival! Now, in the Air and Space Force, we pilots like to address each other by codename. My codename is 'Jammer'. You may also address me as 'Raider One', 'Raider Command', or 'Ma'am', or even just 'Sir'. Just don't call me any stupid shit like 'babe' or 'sweetheart', or I'll take my right foot and shove it so far up your ass you'll need pliers to get the boot out! Now I will give you your codenames."

"Gottmann! Your designation will be Raider Two! Your codename: Falcon!"

"Ma'am!"

I quickly turned to the kid, who tried her best to look strong and professional.

"Midori!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Your designation's Raider Three! Codename: Banshee!"

"Very good, ma'am!"

I smiled at their responses and decided to end my playing Drill Sergeant. "**Sound good**?"

"**Ma'am, yes ma'am!**" They both shouted in unison.

"Alright, then! Now get some sleep for tomorrow! You're dismissed!"

Gottmann and Midori both saluted me and went on their way to their sleeping beds. I turned to my left and noticed the men applauding my R. Lee Emery impersonation—maybe I overdid it.

I turned to see Rico giving me a small, impressed smile. "Not bad, Jam. I gotta say, you got a real way with words. Maybe you'll turn out an all right leader." Rico may be a jerkass, but I knew his compliments were always genuine. I smiled back, appreciating his comment and said, "Thanks, sarge."

Crowther also slowly clapped at me, saying, "Bravo. _Bravo_ hon. I didn' think you could give off such a commandin' presence. Maybe if the ISA had you in charge, they could've won this war in a week."

"Well, thanks I guess." I replied, unsure if her compliment was real or sarcastic. Seconds later, I heard footsteps approaching me from the right. Sergeant McClellan.

"Evening, ladies." He greeted us. "Ah, Jammer. I overheard you instructing your new your new wingmen, so obviously, no further introductions are needed."

"No, sir. I already got things squared away with them."

"Alright, then. I just wanted to tell you that the three of you will each be carrying four men atop your Intruders. The three of you will scout out the terrain west of us, and search for food, water, shelter, survivors, or any Helghast bases surrounding us. Each of you will do your sweep three times a day-morning, noon, and night. When you return, you'll each give a detailed report of your findings to me, and then you'll finish your day by doing evening patrol around the cruiser. Am I clear, Corporal?"

I quickly saluted and shouted, "Sir, yes sir!"

"Very good. I look forward to seeing you airborne. Remember, our survival against the Higs depends on you and your squad. Without you, we can kiss our chances of getting back home goodbye. Dismissed." McClellan left without saying another word.

I returned to my place at the campfire and sat down next to Rico, who looked absolutely bored with McClellan's orders to me. The flames of the campfire slowly died down, along with the loud bustling of the cruiser. All around us, soldiers were beginning to retire for the night. The only fire that was left glowing was the one Rico and I shared. Crowther looked on, that placid smile never leaving her face. She sighed, "Well, ya got a helluva lot 'n yer plate, tomorrow, hon. I suggest ya' t' get plenty a' rest. Oh! And one more thing: I'm gonna be part of yer recon squad, tomorrow. Don't let me down! Well, g'night!" The redhead turned away from us and went off to her sleeping bag.

I sat back down in my spot across from Rico and asked him, _"Por tanto, McClellan darle las asignaciones para mañana? "._

("So, McClellan give you any assignments for tomorrow?")

_"Centinela"._ He replied.

("Sentry duty.")

_"Quiere que patrullan alrededor de esta pila de basura y cuidado con cualquier Higs husmeando alrededor"._

("He wants me to patrol around this pile of junk and watch out for any Higs sneakin' around." )

"_Parece que tienes el trabajo fácil. _I replied.

("Sounds like you got the easy job.")

_Diablos, trabaja para mí, mientras me da algún tiempo lejos de ti."_

("Hell, works for me, long as it gives me some time away from you.")

"_Sí y muchos con su nuevas novias."_ He replied mischievously.

("Yeah, and plenty with your new girlfriends.")

" _No sabía que te gustaban las pelirrojas y asiáticas, por cierto."_

("Didn't know you liked redheads and Asians, by the way.")

Okay. He's _so _gonna pay for that shit.

"_¿¡ Realmente, sarge? ¿Y qué pasa con ese tipo de tu antiguo equipo sobre que nunca te callas? ¿Cuál era su nombre...¿Sevchenko? No sabía que te gustaba a rusos tipos con mohawks."_

("Oh really, sarge? And what about that dude from your old squad who you never shut up about? What was his name…Sevchenko? Didn't know you liked Russian dudes with mohawks.")

I gave him a taunting smile while he gave me an annoyed scowl.

"Whatever." Rico replied in English. "Just remember what you gotta do tomorrow, and more importantly, don't get killed."

I didn't feel like trolling him any longer, so I simply nodded my head and replied, "Don't worry sarge. I'll make sure me and my squad all come back in one piece. After all, you need somebody to argue with, don't you?"

Rico chuckled, "I dunno. Plenty of men in this junk pile. I'm sure I can find someone to get pissed off with besides you."

We shared one final laugh as the embers of our campfire died down.

"Well, our fire's goin' out, Jam. Might be time to turn in."

"Yeah, you're right. _Buenas noches, Rico._"

"_Noches, Jammer."_

The sergeant and I turned our separate ways and dug into our sleeping bags, awaiting the tasks that would be laid upon us tomorrow.

**I know, I know. This one took me an obscenely long time to right (I really need to learn to update more often). But I hope that this chapter serves as a good segway to the next one, where the real action starts. What did you think of the interaction between Rico and Jammer? What did you think of them conversing in Spanish? What did you think of other characters like Crowther, Guttmann or Midori? What did you think were the strongest and weakest parts of this chapter? And lastly, do you have any tips on how I should pace and update my stories? Please let me know! Thank you for reading!**


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